memory
by nathan-p
Summary: Angel is very special. But even her foster father can't keep her safe forever.


This is perfectly absurd, he thinks to himself in the portion of his mind that is safe from reading: once he was the toast of his field, celebrated around the globe, and here he is talking to a four-year-old girl.

"Angel," he says. "Angel, I need to talk to you."

She sets a block on top of the tower she is building. "Okay."

He lowers himself to the ground, kneeling in front of her. He's practiced this conversation over and over again in his mind, but now he's not sure what to say.

There was supposed to be more time; he planned out what he was going to do, but he isn't even supposed to begin until she's six.

Now he's out of time entirely. By this time tomorrow he'll be giving a report in a conference room in Death Valley; the airplane that will collect him from here has probably taken off from the small airfield near the School.

This is too early, he thinks inside the bunker. She's too young.

But the least he can do is set her on the path, if he cannot guide her along it.

"Angel, let me see your neck," he says.

She doesn't move, her curious blue eyes searching his face for information, his hands for a hidden syringe. "Shots?"

"Kind of," he says. "I promise it won't hurt."

"Okay." She trusts him. They all trust him, he knows; he wonders what stuffed-shirt fool made the decision to bring him back to the School, to tear these children from the only supportive adult figure they've ever known.

She hops to her feet and turns around, and he rises to his knees. He palms the magnetic key, raises his other hand to hold her curls aside.

"Hold still, okay?"

"Okay."

Her hands are fists at her sides; he presses the key to her neck at the base of her skull, twists it twice clockwise over the skin.

He closes his eyes, focuses on the bunker.

In the bunker he rises from his chair and goes to the door; light peeks in at the edges, making a halo.

He puts his hand to the knob and the door opens of its own accord, revealing a small figure before him, blinking in wonder.

-What is this? What's going on?- She's full of questions, and for what must be the fiftieth time since he got the news he's wishing fervently that he could stay here.

-This is an imaginary place, Angel.- Strictly that's not the truth - this is his perception of the strange process of telepathy.

She looks at him with solemn eyes.

-Angel, I have a present for you,- he says, hating himself for it. This shouldn't be happening. He shouldn't have to do this.

-Where is it?- She doesn't see it, therefore it isn't there.

-It's an invisible present,- he says. Putting chains on her mind, when he should be removing them, setting her free. If he were a braver man he'd slaughter those who ordered him to do this.

-Neat. Can you make it not-invisible?-

-Yes, I can.- He visualizes a golden tiara - of the six children, Angel is the most normal, and she wants to be either an angel or a princess when she grows up - and it appears in his hand. -You remember Christmas?-

-Uh-huh.- On Christmas she read his mind for the first time to find out what her presents were. Since then she's been mindwalking openly and innocently; for all he knows she's already found something terrible in one of the other children's minds.

-You're a special girl, Angel,- he says, forcing his hand to remain loose on the tiara, not to crush it. -You can fly, and you can see inside people's heads.-

She stamps her foot. -I know I can! I saw when Gazzy was going to put a frog in my bed.-

-That's why I'm giving you this tiara - you're special, Angel.-

-Thank you,- she says as he hands her the tiara, and then looks up at him, puzzled. -Why are you leaving?-

-I have to go away for a little while, Angel,- he tells her - hopefully, it's the truth, and he'll be back within the week, but hope counts for so little with Itex. -I promise I'll come back soon. Fang and Max are going to take care of you while I'm gone.-

-Can you bring me something for Gerome?- she asks, the tiara still clutched in one hand. Gerome is her stuffed octopus, often her companion.

-I'll see what I can do, princess,- he says.

She giggles and sets the tiara on her head.

Bright light has been streaming from behind her; suddenly it dims, but Angel doesn't seem to notice. -Thank you, Daddy. I promise not to miss you too much.-

The bunker is flickering around them, and he makes his last projection clear. -You're welcome, Angel.-

The real world flares back around him, and before Angel can come back fully he depresses a tiny button on the key, flashing a signal to the implanted chip in the back of Angel's neck.

Angel yawns.

He ruffles her hair and stands up. "I have to fix dinner. Don't get in too much trouble."

Her sleepy blue eyes and baby-faced smile haunt him; they're worse than any accusation, because when he sees them he remembers that he has taken from this child her hope to be normal.

* * *

He gives his report before the committee, his mind oddly blank; he hardly hears his own words as he speaks. His heart is back with Angel, tortured with the memory of the early reports of her potential.

Their eyes are sharp as knives on him, but he does not falter before them; he's already wronged six people in the past 24 hours, and the last thing he needs is to offend six more.

Angel ought to be their triumph; she ought to be being taught by the best and brightest, prepared for a brilliant future. Instead she's far away, her extraordinary mind shackled to a bare minimum, her abilities locked away from her, and the committee wants him to get to work on creatures of war. A little girl is one mis-step from drowning in memories no child should ever have to see, and he is barred from guarding her.

The last words rattle from his mouth, and he stands perfectly, absolutely still before them, ready to face whatever they may have for him. He's already committed perhaps the greatest sin of his life, both as a man and as a scientist. There is nothing worse that can happen to him, not even if they declare him lower than useless and have him terminated.

Jeb Batchelder is already dead.


End file.
